


Alternate

by MurielJones



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, HIV/AIDS, Sick Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:09:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurielJones/pseuds/MurielJones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Sam did without  his soul has consequences for Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alternate

“Let’s get you out of here.” Sam Winchester wants nothing more than to take his big brother home – wherever ever that may be - from this crappy hospital where it is his fault that Dean is anyhow. Sam can’t remember two-fucking-asshats worth of what the fuck he did when he was soulless—so anytime they pull into a town, anything can happen, and this time it did. Apparently he hadn’t actually murdered anyone around here, because all they got was a significant beat down. They had been jumped from behind in a fucking supermarket parking lot, the only reason they were there is to buy vegetables, this whole load of crap giving Dean the perfect excuse to claim that vegetables were unhealthy. And there is no dignity in being jumped in a parking lot. Sam thinks the local cops recognized him, and figured that beating the shit out him counted as public service. That really shouldn’t have given them an excuse to lay a hand on Dean. Dean got good and proper worked over, and there was blood everywhere, and he was making that rasping noise that means a punctured lung, and that means death, one way or another, unless you get to the hospital pronto. So Sam did that. 

By the time they got to the hospital Sam was alternately begging Dean to live and telling him it was going to be ok, that it really wasn’t that bad. If you’re a Winchester there is an alternate definition of ‘ok’, and of ‘that bad’. Now it’s five days later, and sometime somebody is going to start asking questions about credit cards and insurance; and Sam can drive with a broken wrist and a few cracked ribs, and a black eye that just looks bad, that’s all; although ‘looks bad’ is also an alternate definition. Sam taped it all up at the motel room, didn’t want to risk anyone at the hospital recognizing him. Now he’s here telling Dean they have to go.

“Let’s get out of here.” Sam says. “Get dressed and stuff.” Sam says. Dean doesn’t move. “Now. Dean?”

But before he can say anything more Dean grabs Sam by the wrist, the broken one, and that fucking hurts the stupid bastard he’s being a complete jerk. “No.” Dean hasn’t looked at Sam in five days, all the time he’s been here he hasn’t been able to look at Sam’s face, let alone look Sam in the eye; now Dean looks straight at him. “We’re not going fucking anywhere.” 

“What the fuck Dean?” Because, really, what the hell else is there to say, but ‘what the fuck?’

“You know you had it all this time Sam? You knew and you didn’t tell me.”

“Dean?” because, still, what the fuck is going on? So Sam is pulling his broken wrist out of Dean’s tightening grip, and Dean is pulling Sam down close to him.

“You knew you didn’t you Sammy? God there is no word for you. I’m not forgiving you this time. Did you do it for some kind of revenge? To spite Dad? For letting you jump into the pit? Why the hell did you do it Sam?”

The staff orderly freezes at the door, Sam and Dean are in each other’s faces. Two big men about to make their disagreements physical, and probably, this would be a good time to call for some back up.

“You owe me answers, and then you owe me never showing up in my life again.” And he is standing and he turns Sam’s wrist and he doesn’t give a shit if he snaps the thing and he punches Sam in his ribs and Sam goes down gasping. “Fight back, Sam, you started this, let’s end it, get it done.”

Sam realizes, belatedly, because of course he should have known he would have, that without his soul he had done something terrible to Dean, done another terrible thing to Dean, because he always does them. Sam opens his mouth to ask. And Dean pulls a blow that would have broken at least Sam’s nose.

“You really don’t know do you Sam?” There is nothing gentle, nothing forgiving in Dean’s voice in spite of his realization. 

A cop has accompanied the orderly to the door, and in unison the Winchester boys, men, declare everything a misunderstanding, ‘yes officer’, ‘sorry to have worried you’, ‘everything’s just fine.’ Alternate Winchester definition of ‘fine’.

Dean sits on his bed again. He barely sees Sam struggle to his feet. He looks out the window. He can’t look at Sam again, doesn’t know whether he ever will be able to. Dean had pushed this down, shut this out, told himself that it wasn’t Sam, wasn’t real Sam, wasn’t his Sammy; but here are the damn consequences again, for both of them.

“I’m sitting here waiting for a nurse to explain my medications, and ‘a councilor to talk to me.’” Dean continues to look out the window, “I’m HIV positive. It’s not the end of the world,” and he laughs a moment at the irony, “it’s not like I’m going to die right now, hey, this isn’t even probably what’s going to kill me.” Dean looks past Sam. “You had no idea did you?” Dean wishes he could find some kindness in his voice, in his thoughts towards Sammy. Sam looks bewildered, and shakes his head, tries to move towards Dean, the wrist is broken though for sure now, but he probably deserved this, deserved more than this. “Don’t come near me Sam, just never, you’re right it was your body, and it was your mind, and you did this to me.” Sam starts to ask what, and Dean just goes right on. “You get to not remember, and you know what, I never get to forget, you wanted to know what you forgot? You forced me Sam.” 

“Dean, I forced you to what?” There are moments when the air waits, when something sits between the moment one is in and reality, when something is broken and we must wait and see what that thing is; that is the moment when Sam realizes what Dean can’t say. Sam catalogues all the times since he got his soul back that he has reach to Dean for comfort, that Dean has reached back and held him. He can only imagine how much those moments cost Dean. 

“I’m sorry.” Sam throws the Impala keys across to Dean, who without watching catches them automatically in the air. “I’m so sorry Dean.” There ought to be an alternate Winchester meaning for ‘sorry’ because ‘sorry’ doesn’t begin to cover this thing.


End file.
